


lift your spirits

by sighless



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Anders as a multiple system host, Book: Hard in Hightown - Varric Tethras, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Multiple System, Solitary Confinement, references to the drafts Varric probably had, with his system members being spirits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-17
Updated: 2016-01-17
Packaged: 2018-05-14 12:09:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5743324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sighless/pseuds/sighless
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fenris calls Anders an abomination, which wakes up a part of his mind that usually tries to ignore these conversations, or: Anders is the host of a multiple system as a result of needing company while in solitary confinement from his time in the Circle, and he and his system members have various reactions to the term.</p>
            </blockquote>





	lift your spirits

**Author's Note:**

> I've been toying around with this idea and considering writing something bigger, but here's a small ficlet on it. I really like thinking of Anders and Justice as a multiple system, and the possibility of Anders having more alters within his system.

The Darktown clinic was empty, except for a few blighted cockroaches the mage could never seem to get rid of. He sprayed one of the newest mixtures he'd come up with after crushing another beneath his boots with disgust. He put the vial back next to the rest of his cleaning supplies, then went about taking inventory for the first aid section. One of his last patients had needed a ridiculous amount of elfroot.

That problem began to solve itself when the front door popped open, Hawke striding in with the biggest grin on his face, obviously ready for some adventure that would no doubt wind him spread out on one of the tables Anders had set up.

Trailing behind the man were his faithful dwarf (a medical marvel, really, to be stuck so tightly to another person without any shared bones or skin) and of course, that bloody broody elf, whose scowl only tightened as he passed the threshold. Unless that were Anders's imagination.

"Anders!" bellowed the rogue, taking wide strides to meet the mage halfway. "You _handsome_ devil, how is Darktown supposed to get any sunlight if you stay cooped up like this?" He winked, clapping the man's shoulder with a tight squeeze.

"Charming. What do you need, Hawke?"

"Can a man not visit his friends without ulterior motive? I am appalled!" he pulled his hand back, clutching his chest before dropping his hands back to his side. "And also, the Wounded Coast beckons, and, well. We need someone to keep us from being too wounded."

"Won't it be _romantic_ , Blondie?" came a gravelly voice (the closest Varric had to the Stone). "The seasalt wind in your hair... and feathers. The warm sun on that baby face. The feeling of freedom that will inevitably remind you to fill your daily quota of talking about mage rights."

Anders scoffed, about to bite back about the feeling of wind in the dwarf's chest hair, but Fenris took a break from quiet brooding to groan in their general direction, patting the dust off his leggings.

"Do you really have to encourage the _abomination?_ " Every syllable was a drumroll of vile until the last word, where all the disgust in his being was poured into.

Anders cringed, as he always did -- the others' lips twitched, trying to keep up that suave smile both of them wore to match each other -- and they couldn't know what the word did to Anders. He opened his mouth to bite back, but nothing came up but the bile in his stomach. Fenris glared at him, with silent rage at just being in the same room.

"So, gather your things, if you're okay -- I mean, Merrill could come, but she's not the best healer, and you know I can't tell my ass from my elfroot," Hawke clicked his tongue and pointed at the mage, worry evident in his deep brown eyes. "What do you say?"

The mage glanced back, but went back to the staring match with a man who would rip his heart out without a second thought if Hawke weren't so fond of him. "I-- _Stop_ \--" something flickered at the corner of his mind, something Not Justice, although Justice was waking up in response to the first light. This just wasn't the time, he couldn't do this in front of them, and panic began to rise in his chest as the fade spirit sharing his mind wrapped around the sharp pain near his forehead. It took all his inward strength to push Justice away from bursting through to the man in rage.

**We are not an abomination, the Other is crying, it is _wrong_ \--**

" _Stop_ ," every voice in Anders burst out through his own, "fucking calling me that." It was all a quiet whisper, and his fists clenched to block the fire that was moving from his heart to his palms.

The elf challenged, "What, mage?"

" _I said stop fucking calling me an abomination!_ " his voice cracked, and he fought for dominance of his own mind.

"A spade's a spade, see?" Fenris said, nodding towards the blue light that flickered once across the mage's eyes.

Hawke stepped in, looking back and forth between them both. "That's _enough_." A stern, angered expression settled on his face, the one that came out when being coy was inappropriate. He softened, looking at Anders again. "We'll be at, uh -- the Hightown Market, gathering a few things. Join us when you're ready, right?" The Fereldan reached to touch his friend's shoulder again, but stopped halfway to wave instead.

Varric watched him expectantly, eyes scanning as if he could read the text of Anders's emotions on his skin. Anders looked away.

In silence, except for the clicking of boots and soft shuffling of bare feet, the mage was left alone in the clinic again.

_Physically_ , that was.

On autopilot, he moved to the back, where he'd carved out a small place to put his own cot and a few of his belongings in an old bag, ready to run when he needed. He sat down, knees drawn tight, pressing his eyes to run into his mind. It was black, with patterns of the fade swirling against the impression of his fingers against his eyelides, the birthplace of the sobbing force inside of him.

Justice was cradling it.

**The rude one made Compassion cry.**

 

* * *

 

 

After so long in the dark, Anders began to wonder if rats had eaten his eyes while he slept. The magebane they laced his food with kept him from even being able to light his own thumbnail. He sang to himself, stopped when he wondered if that made him look too much like he'd lost his mind, then sang a different tune when the silence became overbearing.

The rancid stench of feces and vomit went away after prolonged proximity.

He'd begun to scrape his knees on purpose after they bound his arms behind him, lifting himself and dropping down again until the stone tore the skin. The Templars who came to toss food between the bars would not check closely enough to suspect blood magic.

After a while, he lost count of the feedings that gave him a calendar when he realized it probably wasn't daily or even weekly. He rubbed his thighs together, sobbing as he realized he couldn't feel his own skin.

The magebane kept him from lucidity within the fade, but he pushed against it with all his strength when exhaustion pushed him asleep every now and then.

It was green and bright and blurry, around him, and he could see some lines on his palms for a few moments before it flickered out again, leaving him in the dark, unsure if he were awake or not, unsure if he were in the Fade or in the dungeon of the Circle Tower again.

He wailed when the voice started in. Anders had finally snapped.

" _Hello_." The soft, almost childlike tone pressed against his skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps while he shivered.

"Leave, demon," he responded hoarsely. With his dulled senses could not be sure if this were actually the case, but he could not take chances.

"I'm not a demon..." it sounded hurt. "You're lonely. Can I help?"

He bit back a shriek as a green light filled the vague shape of a person, filtering through the bars of his cell and sitting against the wall. White light blinked against him. The fade scratched at his arms.

"What... who are you...?"

"Compassion," it said gently. The voice came like a balm. It intoned again, "I want to help. Do you want to hear a story?"

His mind froze in disbelief. Everything in him was screaming to decline, to run from this, but to hear another voice down here, in this abyss... "I would love that."

Anders left his eyes wide to let the light burn them, watching the spirit try very hard to maintain a humanesque form while dragging him into a model of Kirkwall built from clever words and a breeze of dust that mimicked breath, the cobblestone lined with blood and lively shells of men and women following the trail.

Compassion stopped once to apologize for the lack of heart, admitting the story was not quite finished yet, but Anders only hummed in response, falling into the tale lifted from crumpled scraps of paper and smeared ink set on a lowset desk a hundred miles away.

There were more half-finished stories. He begged for them until the green light dimmed and the voice grew louder, echoing inside his own mind. _Their_ mind.

Months later, the Templar guards opened the door and let the light stab at the mage huddled in the corner of his cell, the blond man with wild eyes having some conversation aloud with the wall. They dragged him out, casting him back to his original cage.

 

* * *

 

Anders woke up on his cot to a small voice carrying out across the clinic. He jumped up, looking around until he saw a small Elven child peaking through the door.

"Serah Healer?"

The man rose to wave the child over, smoothing down his robes and walking to the center of his clinic. "Yes, child? Are you alright?"

The elf held out a bruised arm, pouting through some story about being shoved by some shemlen boys.

Compassion cooed out, wanting to heal the injuries and listen to the child's woes, assuring them that they were not at fault.

Justice raged, bristling at the gall anyone would have to hurt and oppress another person.

Anders smiled and came to front. "Let's get his cleaned up, then."


End file.
